


revelation

by mikapim



Series: be good to me (sub will verse) [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sub Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikapim/pseuds/mikapim
Summary: Living a relatively peaceful life with Hannibal after recovering from their fall, Will finds that- in certain scenarios- he might like being told what to do.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: be good to me (sub will verse) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148105
Comments: 18
Kudos: 281





	revelation

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings:  
> general bdsm practices and dom/sub dynamics, references to murder, a very brief reference to daddy kink

Will comes home from the boatyard, sweaty and disheveled, but content. 

The house he and Hannibal have shared for the past ten months is pleasant and isolated, surrounding by rolling hills for miles. Healing from their fall into the Atlantic had been gradual and difficult, but ultimately successful. Hannibal has never seemed better- Will can tentatively agree with that assessment for himself as well. 

They haven’t killed since Dolarhyde, something that makes Will just nervous enough to never bring up- he knows they’re going to have to talk about it, one day, but they've seemed to have reached some kind of plateau for the time being, both of them temporarily satisfied with what they’re doing. What they’re doing being eating, resting, and having sex. Will certainly isn’t complaining. 

He does spend a couple days each week helping with odd jobs at the marina 30 minutes south- they have no want for money but Will enjoys the work, and thinks it does them both some good for him to be out of the house for at least a few hours each week. 

The house smells delicious as soon as Will steps inside, and he can barely take his boots off before he finds himself drawn into the kitchen, where Hannibal stands at the stove, broad back to him. 

“Good evening, Will.” Hannibal says, turning to give him a genial look before going back to his stove. 

“Good evening.” Will steps up next to him, kisses his cheek quickly, because he knows Hannibal likes it when he does. 

Hannibal is searing something, some bite sized meat, in a pan. It smells like white wine, and lemon, and a million things Will can’t place. It smells delicious. Lunch- which Hannibal always packs for him, in a leather bag he’d had made custom by a woman in town- suddenly seems very far away. 

Will reaches to grab one of the little pieces of meat out of the pan, already has it in his mouth when he notices Hannibal’s expression- affronted and genuinely annoyed. 

Will does forget on occasion, or rather lets himself forget, exactly how particular Hannibal can be. How he tries valiantly to not be bothered when Will prods at him, and usually fails, just makes clear to Will how much of Hannibal’s careful habits are in fact extremely compulsive. Will would feel almost cruel doing it, if not for the fact it was Hannibal he was doing it too. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, admonishing, a warning. The meat- chicken, surely- _is_ delicious. Will, unable to help himself, reaches for another.

Hannibal hits him hard on the wrist- way too hard to be teasing- with a wooden spoon. It works brilliantly- Will is shocked into dropping the meat back into the pan. 

“Why don’t you go wash up,” Hannibal says, not a question. His tone is sharp, chiding. Will can feel his face heating. 

“Alright,” Will says, still too shocked to say anything else.

He goes upstairs to the bathroom and strips, mind still elsewhere. 

He feels set alight by nerves, unable to stop thinking about the edge in Hannibal’s voice when he’d told him to go wash up. 

And so, Will jerks off in the shower thinking about Hannibal giving him orders and smacking him with a spoon. 

Will is not entirely sure what to do about this development, and the thrumming nervousness of it follows him all through dinner. Hannibal- who had quickly become pleasant and serene once Will had stopped messing with his cooking- obviously notices something is wrong, though Will is certain he doesn’t know what. 

After dinner, when his nerves still haven’t subsided, Will decides to deal with them by getting wasted. To his shock and- later, once the alcohol kicks in- delight, Hannibal joins him. They drink until late into the night, making out without intention and telling each other stories and simply reveling in each other. It’s gleeful- a kind of playful, domestic mirth that Will had thought he had given up the ability to have, once. Hannibal certainly isn’t any less sharp when drunk, but he is (somehow) more indulgent, whispering secrets in Will’s ear before nipping at it. 

It is a pleasant evening, followed by an absolute hell of a morning. 

***

Will wakes up feeling as if he’d been thrown off of a train- a feeling he can, in fact, lay claim to knowing- disoriented and nauseous and with a bubbling sort of headache. He blindly grabs a bottle of aspirin before following the quiet- but still far too loud, _this_ morning- sounds of the kitchen. 

Hannibal is making latkes, which Will thinks is a little presumptuous, given the turning of his stomach. If not for the barely discernible tension in Hannibal’s shoulders, and the fact that he hadn’t said good morning when Will walked in, it could be any other morning. It is not any other morning. 

In replacement of a greeting, Hannibal simply turns around to look at Will, expression blank.

Will swallows three aspirin dry and then, after a moment of, spills three more into his palm and stares at them in consideration. 

Hannibal is pouring him a glass of water and is forcing it into Will’s empty hand in near record time. “As both a doctor and your friend, I highly recommend you do not do that.”

“You are just barely one of those things,” Will says mostly under his breath, downing the water in three long gulps and then, ignoring Hannibal’s disapproving stare, taking the three additional aspirin. 

Hannibal’s eyes don’t leave Will’s throat as he swallows. “I should stick my fingers down your throat and have you expel them. You’re destroying your kidneys.” 

It’s dark- maybe too dark, given their history. Will just ignores him, and goes to lean against the far wall. “Do you have plans for my kidneys?”

“Not after seeing that,” Hannibal says drily. He’s moved back to the stovetop. After a moment he says- “I wonder which you argue I am not- Doctor or friend.” 

“You’re certainly not a doctor anymore,” Will says, too loudly, and almost flinches at the sound of his own voice. “Turns out people have died as a result of your therapy after all.” 

“And the light of friendship will not reach us for a million years?” Hannibal says in response, flipping a latke. 

It takes Will a moment to recognize his own words. _Petty man_ , he thinks. Will is struck by an impulse to step up behind Hannibal, press hard against his back and show him exactly how friendly his feelings are. The reality sets in- the stuffy heat, his entire body in discomfort from the hangover, how on edge they both are this morning- and Will stays where he is.

“If there is a word for what we are, you haven’t taught me it yet.” 

Hannibal slows his cooking for only a moment. As he picks up pace again he asks, starting to be on the edge of truly annoyed, “Have I taught you how to use the French press?” He doesn’t give Will a chance to answer. “Then how about you busy yourself with that?” 

Will stares at Hannibal’s tense back. His hair is ruffled, sticking out a little to one side, gray becoming more and more pronounced as the months pass. Will finds it rather attractive, and doesn’t know how to cope with that thought. Being ordered around by an aging psychiatrist. By an aging serial killer. By Hannibal. 

“Yessir,” he says, low and slurred. It comes out much, much less sarcastic than he intended. Hannibal doesn’t react in any way Will can tell. 

The lack of response makes Will’s face flush more than anything else. He gets started on the French press. 

***

Will isn’t so naive to think that Hannibal wouldn’t have noticed the recent… developments in their dynamic, but he certainly didn’t think he would accosted with them while in the middle of sex- so, of course, that is exactly what happens. 

It’s a Saturday night, a couple days since they'd gotten drunk together. They’re in bed, face-to-face. Will feels as if they’ve been kissing for hours, and it is nice but-

“Hannibal,” Will murmurs into his neck, needy, minuscule thrusts grinding his cock into Hannibal’s thigh. He wants more.

Suddenly Will is on his back and Hannibal is over him, one hand caressing his face, looking awfully fond. “Do you like it when I give you orders, Will?”

Will’s brain short-circuits. His mouth parts and his eyes widen, his breath shallow and face red. He doesn’t know what to say, suddenly feels awkwardly uncertain. The moments in the kitchen the past few days are in the forefront of his mind, and apparently Hannibal’s too. He doesn’t know if he wants to end this, roll over and go to sleep, or beg Hannibal to keep talking, to give Will what he wants. 

When Will doesn’t respond, Hannibal presses his thumb into Will’s mouth, sweeping against his bottom row of teeth. “You like it when I give you orders.” This time it isn’t a question. 

Will finds himself stranded in his own mind. Their sex is not like this. So far, sex with Hannibal has been an extension of the most delicate and tender part of their relationship. To bring the rest of it- the violence and the power struggle- into their bed seems near sacrilege. 

Hannibal sits up, and Will thinks for a moment that Hannibal is taking mercy on him and his awkwardness. 

Instead, Hannibal says, “Get on your knees, on the floor. Facing me.” 

The surge of heat to Will’s cock is undeniable. If he was still doubting if this was a _thing_ , for him- which he hadn’t been, not really- any doubt would be wiped away by Hannibal, eyes glinting and shoulders flexing, saying _that_. 

Will does as he’s told, feeling simultaneously overeager and as if he was swimming through a murky lake, limbs too slow for their own good. 

Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed, watching him like a statue of a deity on a throne. _How many people have died_ , Will thinks, _with this man’s face as the last thing they ever saw._ Surely Hannibal has kept count, could give Will an accurate number if he really wanted to know. 

Instead he says, “Have you ever killed someone during sex?”

“No,” Hannibal says, considering. “Is that a fantasy you wish to explore?”

Will shakes his head, though he’s marveling at the ease in which Hannibal is addressing this, all of this. 

“What do you wish to explore, Will?” Hannibal’s voice is curious, but also deeply fond, as it is more and more these days. Will understands that Hannibal is breaking kayfabe here, that if Will doesn’t answer, certain and truthfully, that the scene will end and they’ll have to have this conversation another time, less charged and in the moment. 

Will doesn’t want that. He wants this, now. 

“I like when you give me orders,” Will says first, because it’s easy, it’s been said. “Not- not all the time. But like this.” 

Hannibal nods, and reaches to place a hand in Will’s hair. Will has trained countless dogs; he understands what it is, a reward, a _treat_ , in response to his honesty. But just because he understands why it’s done doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. 

“I like when you handle me. Turn me and, uh, hold me in place. Hold me down.” Will hears his own voice as almost a stranger’s, barely believing he’s saying such things, aloud, like this. “Again, not all the time.”

“You needn’t concern yourself with placing yourself in a role, Will,” Hannibal says, sounding almost annoyingly like he had when he was Will’s quasi-therapist. “We haven’t concerned ourselves with strict roles in our bedroom up until this point, have we?”

Will shakes his head, relieved without even having fully realized it was a concern he had. That they can have this new thing without giving up what they’ve already created together. 

“I desire the same, and more, from you, Will,” Hannibal continues. “I’m not sure there is a pleasure on this Earth I wouldn’t welcome from you.” 

Will is sure his face has never been this red in his life. Hannibal, seemingly sensing how the intensity of his previous statement set Will’s mind racing, tugs at his curls in an attempt to settle him. It works. 

“What else, Will?” He asks. 

“I like that,” Will says, leaning his head away so his curls are pulled taut again. Will thinks of porn and conversations overheard in locker rooms. Paddles in sex shops windows, evidence in crime dossiers. “I don’t want you to hit me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hannibal’s voice is soft, “Unless you asked me to.”

“I want to hit you,” Will says, not entirely meaning to say it aloud. “Sometimes. In a certain mood.” 

“In general, or sexually?” Hannibal asks, humor in his voice. 

“Both, honestly.” Will says, and laughs a little, sheepish. 

Hannibal smiles, more kindly than Will would have expected. He pets Will’s hair so gently. “That is certainly something we can discuss. I find that I do not experience pain the way most people do. We could have fun with that.”

 _Fun_ , Will thinks. That’s what this is, what this could be. Will has never had a particularly adventurous sex life, when he had much of a sex life at all. The idea of bringing up such topics, any desires that ventured too far from what Will had been taught through cultural osmosis was a ‘normal sexual practice’, seemed near suicidal. Like if he revealed that he was strange in that way, the rest of it would all come tumbling out as well. But now- Will has murdered, has eaten human flesh, has fucked and been fucked by a man- and he knows intimately which one of those things would be the most damning according to the culture in which he had been raised. What’s some kinky sex, in comparison to all that? 

Will finds himself thinking of how Hannibal had cried, the night Will kissed him for the first time. Hannibal is so vulnerable with him sometimes it makes Will’s entire body ache with the shared intensity. Will searches his mind for the root of this, for something honest enough that Hannibal understands how much this means to Will. 

“I want you to quiet my mind,” is what Will finally comes up with. And then, as a bonus, and because it’s true. “I trust you to give me what I need, Hannibal.”

Hannibal looks at him like he might cry now as well. Instead he just leans forward, brushes back Will’s hair, and kisses his forehead. When he sits up again, he says, “Are you ready to begin, Will?”

Will nods. “Yes. Yes, Hannibal, please.” He’s been half-hard through all of this, and he’s aching. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen next, and the sense of relief that accompanies that is shocking. 

“I’m going to tell you to put your mouth on me,” Hannibal says, and Will’s stomach flops like he’s on a roller coaster, like he’s skydiving, like he’s taking himself off a cliff. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Will says, because it is, because it’s so fucking okay. But there is _something_ else, and Hannibal, damn bastard, seems to see it on Will’s face. 

“What is it, Will?” 

“Uh.” Will shifts on his knees, skin prickling uncomfortably. _Fuck_. Hannibal’s pleasure at Will’s discomfort radiates from the older man, and Will can’t figure if it is making him more or less able to ask for what he wants. “Can you- or, uh. I would like it if you said, or if you asked- I mean, told-” It finally comes out in a rush. “I want you to tell me to ‘suck your cock’ instead.”

Hannibal grins again for a short moment, much less kindly now. Will’s stomach lurches. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, expression settling into an almost casual nonchalance, though Will feels the excitement thrumming through him like an earthquake. Hannibal finally releases Will’s hair only to undo his own pants and pull himself out, mostly hard. Will’s mouth waters. “Suck my cock.” 

Will has sucked Hannibal off before, he might even say he had done so many times, but never like this. Never had it been so explicitly an act of submission, and it feels as if it's something entirely new. 

Will gets Hannibal hard with his hands and his tongue, and then works to get Hannibal’s entire cock in his mouth and down his throat. It’s a wet, noisy affair. Will is drooling, and choking, and his hair is dripping sweat into his eyes. He feels disgusting, and glorious. Hannibal’s breath is extremely unsteady, alternating between too fast exhales and deep gasps for air. Will loses himself in it, in all of it. He doesn’t have to worry about what comes next. Hannibal is taking care of it. 

“Stop,” Hannibal says, after an amount of time Will can’t quantify. Will pulls off, gasping. His jaw hurts, and he can taste bitter precum on his tongue. The amount of drool in his beard is obscene. Maybe he should shave it off, if this is going to become a habit. Maybe Hannibal would like that. 

Hannibal watches him, takes in the mess. He reaches down to smear the drool and precum further into Will’s beard and over his cheeks. Will has to close his eyes against how much it turns him on. Keep the beard, then. 

“Listen to what I tell you. Stand up, take off your pants, and sit in my lap,” Hannibal says. His voice is so rough it sounds like he’s the one who just had a cock down his throat. “Legs on either side of mine. I’m going to touch you through your shorts and you’re going to come for me. Then you will go back on your knees and I will come on your face.”

Will groans, so loud in the quiet room. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much his knees hurt from being on the ground, even carpet, for so long. He wonders if this is Hannibal giving him a break. 

Will stands, almost having to catch his balance. He feels as if he’s entered a different gravity. He quickly shoves his pants off and uses Hannibal’s offered hand to settle himself in his lap.

“Good,” Hannibal says, touching Will’s face tenderly. He runs his knuckles over his cheekbones, presses two fingertips so softly into the lower edge of his eye socket. “Beautiful.”

Will feels himself preen. _God, what is this,_ Will thinks, _why does this feel so new_. “Thank you,” he says, having to duck his head at Hannibal’s resulting proud smile. 

Hannibal does what he said he would. He has one hand anchored in Will’s hair, petting and pulling in equal measure. The other hand he uses to jerk Will off through the thin fabric of his boxers. 

Hannibal talks to him nearly the entire time, which Will thinks pushes him over the edge as much as the handjob does. 

“My good Will,” Hannibal murmurs in his ear, pulling his hair so hard it actually makes Will whimper. “Doing just as you’re told. Behaving so well for me. Beautiful boy. So beautiful, such beautiful noises. Come for me now, let yourself go. Let me take care of you.” It’s light, mostly nonsense, especially considering how carefully Hannibal usually considers his words. But it makes Will feel so cared for, so loved- and, in line with the positives, aggressively embarrassed. Reality strikes Will like lightning. 

As if Hannibal can sense that Will has started thinking, has started doubting, Hannibal's demeanor turns. 

His voice is hard when he speaks again, his hand around Will’s dick keeping a brutal pace as the hand in his hair pulls so hard Will feels a few strands get pulled out like snapping violin strings. “Let me take care of you,” Hannibal says again, only this time, it’s a threat. 

Will comes immediately, the wetness gross and sticky in his boxers. He comes, and it lasts longer than Will thinks is possible, or right. He’s shaking in Hannibal’s arms by the time he’s spent. 

Hannibal is supporting his entire weight now, holding him firmly by the waist and the back of the neck. “That was perfect, Will,” he’s saying, and he sounds as if Will has just performed a particularly difficult stunt, instead of just having come in his pants so hard his ears are ringing. “You did brilliantly, my dear. You’ve done very well so far.”

The ‘so far’ is tinted with something, a reminder. Will curses Hannibal for having such high standards for the things he enjoys, but if Will’s going to do this, he’s going to do this right. 

Will slips out of Hannibal’s lap with more grace than he anticipated with how boneless he feels. He lands on the ground with a soft noise, completely ignoring the ache in his knees. He knows Hannibal would let him have a pillow, if he wanted. He doesn’t. Will looks up.

Despite having given the order, Hannibal looks at Will on his knees in wonder. He’s still as Will shifts on the ground a little, putting his hands at his back and rising so he’s standing up straight on his knees.

“You said you were going to come on my face,” Will says, purposefully making his eyes wide and tilting his face down just slightly. He’s thinking too much about what he’s going to say next- he doesn’t know what would make Hannibal the happiest, doesn’t know what he himself thinks is most appropriate. He wants to say something shocking, but every option seems embarrassing and not quite right. He thinks of porn, thinks of saying sir again, or something like master, or even daddy. He briefly considers saying Dr. Lecter, but worries it calls back to something they’ve both grown past. Finally he just takes a deep breath and puts his all into saying Hannibal’s name just the way Will knows he likes, drawn out and so needy. Will thinks he’s starved Hannibal of that intimacy enough over the years.  
  
“Hannibal,” he says, and feels deliriously emotional as he does so, “Hannibal, please, please give me what I need.”

Hannibal’s expression is fucking deadly. There’s no other word for it. He looks at Will like he wants to tear out his throat, rip him apart, and display him to be found later. Will hasn’t felt so alive since the night on the cliff. 

Will can see some of dried, tacky spit still on Hannibal’s cock, and if Will hadn’t just come his brains out, he knows the sight would make him get hard again. _I did that_ , he thinks. 

Hannibal licks his own palm and starts jerking his cock viciously. He’s snarling, and Will can see the sharp tips of his teeth gleaming. 

“Oh God, please,” Will whimpers, lost inside this once again. “Please, please, please.” He feels- and sounds- like he’s begging for his life, not begging for a load on his face. _This is what Hannibal does to me_ , Will thinks, and then Hannibal groans Will’s name so loud that Will can feel it in his fingertips, and Will only flinches a little against the cum now in his beard and on his cheeks and a thread laid on his throat. 

Hannibal pants, sated, for only a few moments before he’s suddenly on his knees in front of Will. He licks up the stripe of come off Will’s throat- Will tries to jerk away, more out of shock than disgust, but Hannibal keeps him in place with a hand on the back of his head. 

“That was very good, Will.” Hannibal keeps holding him in place as he forces Will to make eye contact. Will feels uncomfortable by it, at first, but the discomfort simmers to something more complicated as he takes in Hannibal’s praise. “Very good. You did beautifully.”

“Thank you, sir.” This time the honorific comes easily, without thought or trepidation. 

Hannibal just gives a small, barely-there smile and kisses Will’s temple. “Do you want to take a shower?”

Will nods. He does- he’s just come in his underwear and gotten come on his face- but the words escape him. He has the odd feeling as if he’s forgotten something vital, not unlike suddenly realizing he’s left the door unlocked, but he can’t bring himself to try to figure out what. 

“Will you carry me?” Will hears himself asking, surprised at the lack of sheepishness in his tone.

“You would like me to carry you?” Hannibal asks, voice warm, sounding quietly delighted.

Will nods again, and lets himself be picked up, carried to the bathroom. They take a shower together, Hannibal stripping Will and washing his face and his hair and touching him nearly the entire time. Will finds himself half-present, and unashamed by anything happening for it. Hannibal has helped wash him before, of course, when they’d been injured, and Will had no idea how much he missed it. 

Hannibal even helps him into his pajamas, though Will draws the line at being carried back into the bedroom. They walk back together, hand-in-hand. 

***

“You wanted to talk about last night.” Hannibal says.

It’s the night after. They’ve eaten dinner and washed up and are sitting on opposite ends of the sofa in front of the fireplace. Will hadn’t said that, hadn’t brought up the previous night at all, but is unsurprised Hannibal detected his nerves. 

“I know that it’s a thing people do. I just- “ Will doesn’t know how to say it without being frank- he’s worried he seemed juvenile last night, inexperienced and unworldly. Old-fashioned, or at least amateur. He understands that might have been part of the appeal, for Hannibal, to have Will guileless and wide-eyed, begging for his cock, but Will feels the overwhelming need to clarify to Hannibal both that he isn’t actually the character he was playing the night before and that he is not freaked out in the least by the development. His mumbling and stuttering does not help these points, he realizes. He hopes Hannibal will save him, will understand exactly where Will is at and give him the words he needs, but Hannibal- for the time being- seems pleased to watch Will squirm. 

“I don’t actually think of you as- as my superior,” Will starts. It feels odd for Will to say, especially given that there had been a point in their lives where Will had thought of Hannibal as superior- wealthier, more put together, more likable, more social. It wasn’t as if Will’s view of Hannibal had diminished- though Will no longer considered Hannibal more ‘put together’ than him by a long shot- but Will’s view of himself had increased. And that, Will knew, was because of Hannibal. 

“I know,” Hannibal says. “I wouldn’t care for you nearly as much if you did.”

Will huffs a little at that. He likes Hannibal like this- blunt and brutally honest- but it still takes him off guard sometimes. He tries to run through some of his other concerns about the previous night, but they all seem to run together into a wordless sense of anxiety. Finally, he settles on- “I don’t want you psychoanalyzing this. Why I like it.”

“I can’t stop myself from psychoanalyzing,” Hannibal says. “You know that. I will, however, keep my thoughts on this particular matter to myself, unless you wish otherwise.”  
  
Will doesn’t know exactly how well _that’s_ going to go, but he appreciates Hannibal’s effort- and shows him by sticking his cold feet under Hannibal’s thighs, which Hannibal accepts gracefully. 

There was silence and then- “May I tell you why I enjoy it?”

Will groans, hand finding his hair. “You’re a sadist, and a control freak. That’s why you enjoy it.”  
  
“Yes,’ Hannibal agrees easily. “Though I’m not a fan of your vernacular.” 

“I love you, Will,” Hannibal starts, and Will twitches. That was rarely a good start to a conversation. “But you carry burdens like weights around your very being. If sexual submission and roleplay is able to help you achieve a mindset where you can be more comfortable with yourself, for even a few moments, I relish in experiencing it with you. As beautiful as you are with your mouth around me, the moment I felt the most pleasure last night was when you felt comfortable enough to ask me to carry you to the shower, and to wash you.”

Will flushes at the memory, which he supposed proves Hannibal’s point. 

“You call me a control freak, which I can concede to. But your pathological inability to accept affection without putting up a fight is also a form of control.”

Will is a little annoyed- he doesn’t know where Hannibal gets off calling _him_ pathological- but he can’t deny it’s true. He stares into the fire until Hannibal speaks again. 

“I’m afraid I’ve upset you.”

“No,” Will says, and he scoots himself closer to Hannibal on the couch to prove it. “No, Hannibal. I’m just thinking.”

“That is the problem. You want to think less. You want to be taken care of. These are extremely basic desires and, if you let me, ones I can help you fulfill.”

Will hums in response, before pulling his feet away so he can kick Hannibal a little. “I told you not to psychoanalyze me.”

Hannibal grabs Will’s ankle, fingers tight around fine bones. “If only your thoughts were less appetizing.”

Will laughs, despite himself, and then yanks his foot away so he can try to kick at him again. “God, you’re obnoxious,” he says, still laughing.

Hannibal easily avoids the kick, standing and looking like he’s about to pounce at Will, even though his expression is tender. Will can’t stop grinning, heaving himself over the back of the couch so he can race upstairs- cutting through the kitchen because he knows it’ll annoy Hannibal.

Will is chased into the bedroom, where they both fall into bed, quickly wrapped up in each other. 

“Do it, then,” Will says, feeling liberated, and a little drunk, though he hadn’t had more than a glass of wine with dinner. At the tilt of Hannibal’s head, he clarifies, “Do it. Take care of me.”

Hannibal kisses him until they’re both panting. They roll around- getting each other’s clothes off and only touching teasingly, until Hannibal suddenly takes both of Will’s hands in his own and presses them into the bed above Will’s head.

“Do you want to be good for me tonight, Will?” Hannibal asks. 

It sends a sharp rush down Will’s spine. For all the discomfort he’s felt during the day, it feels easy to do this now, pinned underneath Hannibal. “Yes,” Will says, breathless. 

“You will be still for me. If you move, I will restrain you, but I would prefer if you were able to keep still yourself. I’m going to open you up for me, and make love to you. You will finish without stimulation to your cock. I will finish inside you.” Hannibal’s voice is devastatingly clinical, but Will knows better, knows how affected he is. “Do you understand?”

“Yessir.” It’s slurred, playful- but it makes Hannibal’s eyes darken, which in turn makes Will’s gut twist.

Hannibal presses down hard on Will’s wrists before releasing them to run his hands down his shoulders, along his sides. 

It feels good- luxurious. Will flutters his eyes shut before something dawns on him, and he opens them. “May I close my eyes?”

Hannibal seems surprised for only a moment. “Yes, you may,” he says, smiling like they’re sharing a joke. “Thank you for asking so politely, sweet boy.”

Will feels his toes curl- he can’t help but smile and feel suffocated by the affection surrounding him. “Thank you,” he breathes out, and lets his eyes fall shut. 

Hannibal’s touch is heavy but teasing- he toys with Will’s nipples, runs his nails down Will’s waist, licks up the sweat pooling at Will’s clavicles. Will is patient- is _good_. It isn’t even much of a task, which Will supposes was part of the point. It’s easy to lay there and receive worship from Hannibal’s hands and mouth, when he’s been ordered to do it. 

Hannibal finally makes his way down to grasp at Will’s hips and ass. Even the lube dripping from Hannibal’s fingers is warm as he slips a finger inside of Will. 

Will moves his hips a little, forgetting himself- one finger never feels like much beyond uncomfortable- but stops immediately as Hannibal suddenly grabs his ass hard with his free hard, nails digging in uncomfortably. 

“Still,” Hannibal says, chastising. 

“Yes,” Will says, although he’s already stopped moving. “I’m sorry.” The strangest part of it is that Will really _is_ sorry. He feels actual regret for having moved when Hannibal had told him not to, has an actual desire to be still for him. It turns Will on immeasurably, and he focuses all of his attention into being as still as possible. 

Hannibal fingers him open as he said he would. One finger quickly turns to two to three, where it actually becomes a challenge for Will not to press down onto Hannibal’s fingers. He wants to be fucked, wants Hannibal to fuck him-

Hannibal finally grazes Will’s prostate, and Will moans loud into the quiet of the night. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his own tongue, for want of making any other movement. Hannibal works his prostate until Will is certain he might actually be able to come even before Hannibal truly fucks him (despite agreeing easily earlier, Will wasn’t entirely sure in the moment if he actually could come without either of them touching his cock- he had certainly done it before, but without that kind of pressure. Now, it didn’t seem much of an issue.)

Will is overstimulated, out of his own head, can hear the airy, soft noises he’s making like they’re coming from someone else. By the time Hannibal spreads Will’s legs so he can press the head of his cock against Will’s rim, Will is drenched in sweat, panting as lightly as he’s able. 

Will’s right shoulder is sore, almost to the point of distraction, but he doesn’t even consider moving. The thought _Hannibal said still, Hannibal said, Hannibal said_ is racing through his mind, even as his stomach muscles clench in resistance to him not flinching at all as Hannibal presses his dick into him. 

Hannibal bottoms out, and Will can feel his breath hot on his cheek. “Good,” Hannibal says. Then- “Mine.”

Will moans even louder, and it takes conscious effort to not reach out for Hannibal then, to not wrap his arms around him. Hannibal rocks for a few moments, pressing kisses into Will’s hairline, against his ear, before he pulls out. Will whimpers, and has never recalled making such a noise in his life, certainly not during sex. 

“Turn over,” Hannibal says, voice rough and low. “Hands and knees.”

Will does so almost immediately, not just out of a desire to please (though that’s definitely part of it) but because of how delicious the opportunity to move his body at all is. And, he thinks as he settles, letting his head fall between his shoulders, it’d be easier in this position, to just let go and let Hannibal _take_ him. 

Which Hannibal does, immediately, entering Will hard with one hand on his hip and one on his shoulder. He sets a brutal pace almost immediately- he’s really keyed up, Will realizes, is really enjoying this beyond whatever Will is getting out of it. This realization is the final thing Will needs to stop thinking entirely, and he can practically feel the tension leak out of his shoulders, even as Hannibal continues to fuck him roughly. 

It’s more intense than it’s ever been- how Will is completely focused on his own body, conscious of every thrust, how he’s on edge with his desire to stay still for Hannibal, how Hannibal’s fucking him like he has something to _prove_ ; all wrapped up together in some amalgamation of cruelty and pleasure. 

Will’s orgasm builds steadily until he feels as if he’s on a mountain summit, only barely stopped from tipping over the edge. “Hannibal,” he cries out, forcing himself to stay still, pardoning how Hannibal is rocking him up the bed with his thrust, not even allowing himself to fist the bedsheets. His eyes are still clenched shut, and the phosphene behind his eyelids is all glittering stars and blurry rings. “Hannibal, please, please.”  
  
“Come,” Hannibal says, though it’s little more than a grunt. “Come for me, Will.”

Will _wants_ to, is desperate for it, whining for it- but it isn’t until Hannibal leans over him, chest to back, that he does, spurting against the sheets. It feels euphoric, like entering another body, or another realm. Will finds himself unable to breath, both during his orgasm and immediately after- especially as he’s fucked through it by Hannibal, who is unceasing in his fucking but has started up a mostly monosyllabic chant of telling Will how good he is. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, breath hot in Will’s ear and with an arm tight around his chest. “Good, Will, my love. Beautiful. Beautiful.” He comes inside of Will, both of them shaking through it. 

Will falls to his chest and then- at Hannibal’s pressure- his side. His mind is still hopelessly, gleefully blank as he turns his head back to smear a haphazard kiss against Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal takes hold of his jaw to kiss him properly, murmuring barely-there words into his mouth.

“Run me a bath?” Will finally says, whispered into the quiet. “And get me a glass of water?”

Hannibal kisses him in response, all teeth and affection.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea how this fic got to be 6000 words it is JUST slightly cerebral porn.
> 
> i went back and forth rather to post this as a stand-alone or the first chapter of a longer fic. i definitely have more planned in this universe (the w&h explore bdsm universe, lol) but i have no idea when i'll feel like writing it or if it'll even come to fruition. also, there isn't actually an overreaching plot, as there is little plot at all; it's literally just porn and feelings. so i decided to just go ahead and post this by itself and when/if the other parts get written i'll make it a series. all that said, if you like this, more will probably be coming one day!


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